Blankets and Bedclothes
by portmanteaux
Summary: Hermione and Remus dance around each other a bit and come to hold each other in a certain regard. Fairly smutty, I think. Not compliant with anything. Caution: Not a whole lot of plot.
1. Chapter 1

Note: I am publishing this as a way of (hopefully) letting it go. I've never published here before. Review if you want, but it doesn't matter much to me. I regard this as sort of a personal experiment.

I obviously didn't invent any of the proper nouns contained in this story.

_1: Introduction._

Hermione hoped she was being subtle, but could not actively control her gaze. She sat with a book in her lap, opened to a chapter on arithmancy, and kept her head tipped toward it. But her eyes were following their own interests, which did not happen to be academic, or even magical. They were fixed across the room where Harry was sitting, playing wizard chess. He looked up and met her gaze curiously, no doubt wondering why she was so attentive to their game. She was not watching Harry, however. Her eyes were boring into the back of his opponent—and what a back it was! She saw him in her mind's eye like Moody's magical one, imagining through his clothes to follow the angles of his shoulder blades. She looked at the back of his neck and created a view of his spine, trailing down his lean, muscular back…

She snapped out of it and pulled her gaze back down to her book, forcing herself to read a paragraph before her treacherous eyes wandered again.

"Hermione, what are you reading?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Arithmancy," she replied.

"No wonder you're more interested in our game. Would you like to play?"

"No, thanks. I'm tired. I think I'll say goodnight."

"Perhaps you should try an occasional work of fiction," said the soft voice that had the power to make her spine tingle. "It's less informative, but vastly more entertaining."

She smiled at the back of his head. "I wholeheartedly agree." She stood up and replaced the book on the shelf before heading for the door. "Goodnight, Harry. Goodnight, Lupin."

"'Night," Harry murmured, concentrating on his next move.

His opponent turned to look at her for the first time that evening and gave her a slight nod. "Goodnight, Granger," he said, slightly mocking her use of his last name, and she left.

When she had first moved into Grimmauld Place she hadn't felt comfortable using his first name; after all, he had been her teacher, and he was nearly twice her age. After his repeated entreaties that she stop calling him "Professor Lupin," she simply dropped the title and began referring to him by his last name. He, in turn, forewent the "Miss" and began calling her simply "Granger." Not the most familiar arrangement, but the best they could do. The names had stuck ever since.

She would enjoy fiction tonight, but not a novel. She would retreat to her room, get into her bed, and spin her own story about a young witch and the man she couldn't seem to get out of her system. What sort of lover would he be, she wondered. He seemed so controlled, and his actions seemed as effortless as they did carefully thought-out. He never said a brash word—or much at all, really, unless it was truly worth saying—or lost his temper. Would he love the same way: careful, confident, and unhurried?

Perhaps this composure was the product of careful study. What was he withholding? Would his restraint finally break, his passions rising to the surface and spilling explosively over the edge?

Then, not unlike those other, similar nights, or those nights to come when she was overwhelmed by her thoughts of him, she would close her eyes and slide her hands over her body. It was a poor substitution for his touch, but it was all she had.

***

Remus Lupin lost his game of chess, but it had little to do with his skill, or his opponent's for that matter. He was distracted. He could feel the eyes that burned into his skin from across the room. All the while he thought, though it must have been his imagination, that he could truly feel their smoldering heat. He had been feeling it for a while now, and avoiding the slow burn that he felt radiating from her whenever he got near. Staring at his back while he was sitting perfectly still and trying to play chess, however, seemed a bit ridiculous. What could she possibly be thinking? Surely there was nothing about him that warranted such interest. Especially from a woman half his age, a former student sharing a house with him.

He fought, with every fiber of self-restraint, against shifting in his seat. He didn't need to see her to know how she looked; he had caught that darkened gaze a few times, and it haunted his mind. Her chocolate eyes, normally bright and eager, would grow heavy and intense with a hint of a smile at the corners. She would stare through him; nothing escaping her careful study.

He was relieved when she announced she was going to bed. Harry claimed she was reading something; he would never have known, unless there were text printed on his own back. He had been waiting for this to pass, for her crush or curiosity to fade into an embarrassing story to confess one day with a laugh. What could such a woman feel for _him_, a haggard, aging werewolf?

He heard himself wryly suggest she try fiction. He wondered if she weren't already entertaining herself with thoughts of him. He longed to know what was behind the heat of her gaze, but as always he shook these thoughts away, calling himself a lewd old man.

He went to his own bed soon after she'd gone and Harry had called checkmate. He didn't smell her dark, spicy scent or hear her soft sigh as he passed by her doorway. She wasn't in her bedroom thinking of him, and he certainly did not imagine her lying in her bed, her hand between her thighs.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione was attentive to the lunar cycle, though it had never factored into her life before she met Remus Lupin. _His_ life revolved faithfully around the moon. He was inextricably linked to it—_fettered, more like_, she thought.

When waxing, she could see his anxiety increase. His eyes lost some of their serenity and became piercing and intense. His movements were still graceful, but tempered by the stiffness of his joints and the ache in his muscles. He spoke and ate less, and avoided company when he could.

When waning, his relief was visible. He ate heartily and was more prone to smile. He rarely laughed, regardless. Though he never seemed to be exactly happy, the new moon found him the most cheerful.

Although the moon would never directly affect her as it did him, his mood changes did distress her. The full moon, which she had previously regarded as beautiful, would never again hold the same charm for her, and she resented it on his behalf, if only slightly.

Remus had been agitated all day. Hermione knew this even though he kept away from her and Harry, scarcely leaving his room. He hadn't come down to join them for breakfast, and the only indication that he was at home was the occasional thumping sound above their heads as he moved around. She knew why he was restless, and resisted the urge to knock on his door and make sure he was all right.

As chance had it, she didn't have to knock. She left her room, where she had been cleaning and organizing her bedroom in an effort to keep busy, and headed for the kitchen to take a break and some refreshment. Remus's door opened as she passed, and he stepped out into the hallway to narrowly miss running into her. In fact, he seemed quite surprised to see her standing outside his room. She paused and studied him curiously; he looked fine, but a bit tense, and his hair was rumpled from his fingers' frequent nervous combings.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," he echoed. He thought about retreating into his room and closing the door again, but that would be rude. He wouldn't be rude to Hermione, even for the full moon's sake.

She shifted her weight to her other foot and tipped her head slightly, regarding him the way he imagined she had examined her cauldron in potions class. Or a boggart in DADA, he remembered.

"Would you like to have some tea with me?" she asked kindly.

He hesitated and wondered if she had studied leglimency. "Yes, thank you," he replied. "I was just going to have tea."

She descended the stairs, and he followed, watching her mahogany curls bounce around her neck. He sat at the kitchen table and watched as she prepared a pot of tea. She sat across from him, poured the tea, and watched him inhale it deeply before sipping it. He felt uncomfortable under her gaze, not wishing her penetrating stare to see him now.

_Wait until I am human again_, he pleaded silently.

Mercifully, she picked up her own cup and sipped it lightly, looking over toward the window. He took the opportunity to study her. She was dressed in muggle clothes, a t-shirt with faded text on the chest and some loose jeans, and from the sounds he had heard from her room she had been cleaning. Her hair was messily tied up, with curls falling about her face and neck. He felt her gaze on him and he snapped his eyes up to hers from where they had been wandering. He felt sheepish, but her expression was gentle, if a bit curious.

She marveled at the strength of the man before her. He was guaranteed to suffer immense, inevitable pain every twenty-eight days, and yet he always had the energy to sip tea and entertain polite conversation. He never lashed out or yelled or cursed the heavens. Or perhaps he did, and kept it private. She was overcome with divergent urges to hug him and scream in sympathetic frustration.

"How are you feeling?" she asked lightly instead.

He exhaled with a rush of air. "Like my skin is an electric fence," he replied.

She raised her eyebrows at the honest answer. Somehow, she knew exactly what he meant. She was also surprised that the wizard had used a muggle device as an analogy. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

His eyes looked between hers, drinking in the honesty and concern he found there. She took his pause as a hesitation.

"I mean it. If there's something that can bring you any relief, I'd be more than happy to help."

He smiled genuinely, though a bit sadly. "Thank you," he said appreciatively. "If I could think of anything at all, I would gladly take you up on your offer. Unfortunately, I have yet to find anything that helps."

She returned his smile and nodded again.

"Though," he added, sipping from the ceramic cup. "Hot tea and a friend certainly don't hurt."

Unable to stop herself, she reached across the table and grasped his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. "I'm always here for you."

He looked at their hands and then at her face. He felt the heat of her skin on his, and now he could see the heat in her gaze. Had it been there the whole time? "Thank you," he said.

After holding his hand a second longer than was necessary to make her point, she released it and emptied her teacup.

His skin burned and he avoided her eyes as she stood up. "I should get back to my project. If I don't see you—" she began, knowing full well she might not. He often skipped dinner on the night of the full moon. "Well. I suppose it would be crass to wish you a good night."

"I can wish you one, though," he said quietly.

She moved her empty cup to the sink and lingered a moment more before leaving the kitchen and bounding up the stairs to her room. She forced herself to keep moving systematically through her belongings; sorting out the things she no longer needed, storing things more efficiently, occasionally using her wand to remove the thin layer of dust that coated some of her forgotten possessions. It took up most of the afternoon, and she finished just before dinner.

She found Harry downstairs cooking. The residents of the house took turns making dinner, which was no problem for Hermione and Remus, but Harry had required some help in learning the spells. Even still, on his night he usually took care of the simpler parts and enlisted the help of one of his friends.

"Just the two of us tonight, I guess," he remarked when she entered the kitchen.

"Yes, I think so."

"Hey, Snape just brought that for Lupin," Harry gestured to the table. "Will you take it up?" She looked at the vial of dark potion sitting on the counter as if it might explode if she touched it.

"Do you have everything under control here?" she asked with weak humor. He was stirring a pot and peeling potatoes and slicing carrots all at the same time.

"For the moment," he replied with a smile.

She filled a glass with water and picked up the potion and carried them both slowly up the stairs, feeling her trepidation increase as she neared his door. With both hands full, she forewent knocking.

"Lupin?" she asked into the wooden door.

After a moment the door flew open and he looked at her with an amber glint in his eyes that grew with the approaching moon. Suppressing a shiver, she silently handed him the potion, which he drank immediately, and then the glass of water.

Though she had never tasted it, she had read enough about the wolfsbane potion to regret that he had to drink it every four weeks. "I'm sorry that this is your dinner."

He watched her face for a moment, and thought he saw genuine pain there. With a shrug, he emptied the glass and handed it and the vial back to her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, and turned to go back downstairs.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he said softly. He had closed his door again before his use of her first name made her spin around in her tracks.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Harry and Hermione had eaten breakfast alone. Hermione occasionally shot a nervous glance at the door, wishing Remus would come down and join them as he usually did. His absence worried her.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"Do you think he's all right?" she asked. "He usually comes down for breakfast."

"I'm sure he's just exhausted," Harry replied. "I have to get going." He shoved a final piece of bacon into his mouth and wiped his fingers on his napkin before hurrying out of the house.

Hermione sighed. Staying around the house all the time was beginning to make her restless. On top of that, she had to distract herself from worrying about Lupin.

Which is why, after she'd saved the leftovers and cleaned up the kitchen, she had gone upstairs for a shower. She stopped at his door and pressed her ear against it, and was comforted by the heavy breathing sounds inside.

She had gone about her day tentatively, unable to keep her mind focused completely on what she was doing. She didn't dare leave, in case she missed him, so she decided to extend her cleaning project to include the rest of the house. She felt a little better when Harry returned in the late afternoon. He always seemed to be able to cheer her up. They sat and talked together, debating the best gift for Ron, as his birthday was drawing near.

She did not see Lupin until dinner. She wondered if one of them should go and wake him up, for he needed to eat something. She didn't have to suggest it, though, for he entered the kitchen and flopped into the chair across from her. He could feel her watching him, and kept his eyes on the food filling the table.

"Oi, Lupin, how're you feeling," Harry said, shoving a forkful of his dinner into his mouth.

"Fine," the man answered tiredly.

"Hungry?" Hermione wondered with a hint of amusement as he piled food onto his plate.

He lifted his gaze slowly to her face, which held an expression he couldn't read. Her eyes flicked quickly between his, searching for what, he didn't know. "Famished," he replied.

He looked tired, she thought, but his eyes regarded her scrutiny with patient kindness. Her countenance melted into relief. "Glad you're all right."

After dinner, they retreated to the sitting room as they did most nights. Instead of chess, Lupin was absorbed in a book, and Hermione was sitting on the couch with Harry, her legs draped over his lap casually as they talked about nothing and everything—Hogwarts, their last few weeks of school, their future job prospects. Lupin occasionally looked up from his book and smiled at them chatting happily and laughing at one another's jokes.

This is how it should be, he thought; Hermione was wrapped up with a young man her own age, and a good one. He wasn't sure what their feelings were toward one another, but he thought Harry couldn't possibly be uninterested in Hermione. She had grown into a lovely young woman. Her earlier bossiness was now tempered by a sense of poise. Her newfound internal confidence reduced her need for external validation. She was the brightest witch of her age, and the most intelligent person he had ever met. _And she's beautiful_, added an uncontrollable voice in the back of his mind.

"Oi!" Ron's voice suddenly called from the fireplace. "Okay if I come through?"

"Yes, Ron," Harry answered. With a bit of a glow, Ron appeared in the fireplace and looked around the room, his eyes settling on Harry and Hermione. "You two look cozy," he said, and Lupin thought he detected a note of hurt in his voice.

Hermione sighed and scooted to one end of the couch, leaving room for Ron to sit between herself and Harry. Lupin tried to fade into the background, but he couldn't help observing the dynamics of the trio before him. Before, Harry and Hermione had seemed perfectly relaxed together, and now Harry and Ron seemed the same way, but there was something off about Hermione and Ron. Ron tried his best; he asked her questions and brought her into jokes, but the moment she said something serious, and often intelligent, Ron shrugged her off or belittled her. Lupin quietly disapproved of what he was seeing—one did not dismiss a mind like Hermione's, or take it for granted.

At the same time, Ron seemed to touch her a lot. It looked accidental, and Lupin might not have noticed it if there weren't some part of his brain that glowered in jealousy. Even an accidental touch is preferable to no touch at all. But Ron's arm would lie across her knee when he reached down to tease Crookshanks, or his thigh would settle against hers until she shifted away. It was consoling, Lupin thought, that Hermione did not seem to be welcoming his advances. She humored him and laughed when he teased Harry, and it was clear that she had a lot of affection for her friend, but she seemed to find him a bit trying. Lupin noticed that she was tenser with him beside her.

Ron couldn't stay long—he only came to speak excitedly to Harry about the Quiddich game they were going to see that weekend. After he left, Hermione curled her legs up beside her to occupy the space he had vacated, and Harry yawned. "I'm knackered," he declared. "Goodnight, Hermione, Lupin."

"Goodnight," Lupin said.

"'Night, Harry," Hermione responded, though her mind seemed to be elsewhere.

When he was gone, Hermione glanced at Lupin and found him once again absorbed in the pages of his book. She stretched out further, lying fully on her back on the couch now. Lupin could sense without looking at her—though he could see her out of the corners of his eyes—that her mood had taken a downward turn. He marked the page in his book and dropped it to his lap, regarding her curiously.

"You three remind me of my friends at school," he said conversationally and a bit nostalgically, hoping to nudge something out of her.

"It must have been so hard to lose them," she replied quietly, catching him off guard. He did not think her reaction would be to think of his feelings rather than divulge her own.

He responded truthfully, for he could not do otherwise. "It was. Still is."

She turned her head to look at him. "I love those boys like brothers," she said fiercely, unable to keep the emotion from her voice.

"Brothers?" Lupin replied in surprise.

"The brothers I never had," she said faintly, turning to stare at the ceiling as she continued. "Harry didn't have any worthwhile family, and I was separated from mine for their protection. The Weasleys practically adopted the both of us. We're family."

"Of course. I know what you mean," he replied, thinking how the Potters had similarly taken Sirius and himself under their wing, so to speak, when he was a boy.

She turned to her side to face him and propped her head up on her palm. "I'd imagine it's different with all boys," she thought aloud.

"In what way?" Remus asked, mentally tracing the graceful triangle of her arm.

She considered her words carefully before speaking. "I think of Harry and Ron as brothers," she began. "And I know Harry has always regarded me like a sister—or," here she faltered a bit, and watched the carpet as she spoke. "I mean, I believe so. He certainly does now, at any rate."

Lupin's brain clicked, noting its mistake. Her feelings for Harry were platonic, but he wondered if she was right about his reciprocal emotions.

"But Ron…" she didn't seem to want to finish her sentence.

"Feels differently?" Lupin inquired.

She raised her eyes to his. "Perhaps he does. I'll admit, I"—here she blushed—"fancied him a bit several years ago, but it was fleeting, and grossly outweighed by our friendship."

Lupin wondered how she managed to keep constantly surprising him. A moment ago she was empathizing with his feelings of loss, and here she was intimating some of her most personal emotions to him.

"I…think I can relate," he replied. It was Hermione's turn to raise a curious eyebrow. "Not with the boys," he corrected hastily, earning a cheeky smile from his audience. "But there was a certain young lady we went to school with, whom I thought I fancied. However, her affections lay elsewhere, and I quickly learned that our friendship was much more meaningful and gratifying."

How had she done that? he wondered. She had drawn a confession from him, as well.

Hermione nodded, and kindly did not pry any further. "Although, I have to believe that it's possible for a friendship—the right friendship—to mature into something more." Her tone was self-reflective, and he was grateful that she didn't seem to require a reply from him, as he was dumbstruck by her comment. The confidential mood had passed, and she was sitting up, picking up her shoes, and pausing to look at him before leaving the room. "Thank you for listening and understanding," she said. "I feel quite at ease talking to you."

"You're welcome," he replied. "I think it's mutual." He kicked himself. What on earth had possessed him to utter _those_ words?

She smiled brightly at him. "Goodnight, Lupin."

"Goodnight, Granger."


	4. Chapter 4

It was a few days later after a trip to Diagon Alley with Harry that Lupin came home, rather late in the evening, to hushed voices in the lounge. Harry didn't seem to hear them, and went immediately upstairs to his room to owl Ginny about something he'd seen in the shops, but Remus felt compelled to investigate. As he drew closer to the closed door, he could discern that the tones were not friendly ones. They were also getting louder.

"I'm sorry if I've hurt you, but I've told you how I feel. We just won't work, Ron. I know that."

"Yes, you know everything, I suppose. And I'm poor, stupid Ron who's never been good enough for you. Just a pebble in your shoe."

"It isn't about 'good' or 'bad,' it's a matter of compatibility!" she exclaimed in frustration. "Look at us right now! I can't even tell you what I think without you blowing up at me!"

"Because you won't even try! You know the answer already!"

"Yes, I know without trying because it's how I _feel_!" she cried. "I don't feel that way about you, and you standing here shouting at me certainly isn't going to change my mind. You don't seem to care how I feel because you never ask, and when I tell you, you dismiss it."

"Only because you're so cold all the time," Ron spat. "Nothing but logic and reason. The only emotion I see from you is anger."

"Well, if I'm so cold, it's no wonder I'm not hot for _you_," she said, her voice low and seething. "I'd like you to leave. If you don't, I will."

"Hermione…" his voice sounded small. Scared.

She was silent, and a moment later the door flew open and crashed into Lupin's forehead, which was thrust forward, listening.

"Ow!" Lupin exclaimed, his hand flying up to cover the probable bruise.

She slammed the door shut behind her and charmed it locked so Ron couldn't follow her. His only way out would be the floo. When he started shouting her name from the other side of the door, she silenced it, too. Hermione suddenly noticed Lupin and glared at him. When she realized what had happened, her face softened and she stepped toward him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"It's all right," he said quickly, not wanting to give her a chance to realize he had been listening to her private conversation.

She took his hand and led him to the kitchen where the light was better, then turned to look at him and tried to pull his hand away from the bump.

He was unsure of allowing an angry witch near his sore wound. "You don't have to—"

"It was my fault," she muttered. "Although that's what you get for listening at closed doors."

Though her words were clipped for lack of patience, the look in her eyes assured him that she was not angry at him—nothing to the rage she felt for Ron at that moment.

"I'm sorry," he said, letting her touch his forehead softly. "I heard shouting, and I thought I might have to break up a duel."

His attempt at levity was lost on her. Though her hand was gentle, her face was tense, her lips pressed into a terse line and her mind clearly elsewhere.

"The skin isn't broken," she murmured. She touched her wand to his forehead and said a healing spell that took away the sting.

"Thank you," he said. When she didn't even look at him, he caught her hands in his. "Are you all right?" he asked softly. When she brought her eyes to his, they were moist with painful tears. "He's wrong, you know."

She looked shocked, but he continued. "You're one of the warmest people I've ever met." He passed a thumb under her eye to catch a tear from falling. "In fact, I'd say downright fiery," he joked, coaxing a grateful smile from her.

"Thank you for saying that," she said. His thumb was still stroking her cheek, his fingertips grazing her earlobe. She leaned into his touch, pressing her skin against his palm briefly before he dropped his hand to his side.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "It's none of my business."

"No," she said, throwing her arms around him and pulling him into a hug. "Don't apologize. I'm so glad to have you for a friend. You're the kindest man I know." He recovered from the initial shock of the physical contact and wrapped his own arms around her, holding her loosely against him.

"It's my pleasure," he replied. He had no concept of the length of their hug, but he suspected it was longer than a casual embrace. She pressed her lips to his cheek, which shocked him more. He had a sudden, powerful urge to kiss her back. He reminded himself that she was merely thanking him, and felt grateful when she started to pull away.

"I can't open the door to the—" Harry halted when he saw Lupin and Hermione with their arms around each other. They pulled apart and looked at him, both looking a bit glassy-eyed. He realized Hermione's eyes were red from tears, and forgot to wonder what they were doing embracing in the kitchen. "Hermione, what's the matter?"

"I locked the door to keep Ron from following me," Hermione answered. "We had a bit of a fight, and I asked him to leave."

Though he wished Harry hadn't walked in while Hermione was in his arms, Remus was glad for the younger man's appearance. Harry knew his friends and could help mediate if necessary. "What did you fight about?" Harry asked, leading her to the kitchen table to sit. Although he felt he was once again intruding on a conversation that was not for him to hear, Lupin did not leave, instead busying himself with brewing a pot of tea, which, he told himself, was meant to soothe Hermione.

"Ron has feelings for me that I do not share," she said bluntly. "When I told him this, he got upset. He seems to think I'm doing it to spite him, as if I could change my feelings simply because he wants me to." Harry nodded, and Hermione noticed he did not look surprised. "You knew," Hermione said mildly.

"I suspected," Harry corrected her gently. "I thought he might have a bit of a thing for you. At one point I thought you might feel the same…"

"I did, briefly and a long time ago," she answered. "Will you check if he's gone?" she asked. "It's much better that I don't see him at the moment. Perhaps…you could talk to him?"

"Sure, Hermione. Are you okay, though?"

She glanced at Lupin gratefully as he placed a cup in front of her and filled it with hot tea. "Yes, I'll be fine. Make sure he's okay."

Harry nodded, and she waved her wand at the door, removing the locking spell she'd cast. Harry opened it and slipped inside, reemerging a moment later. "He's gone. I'm going to the Burrow." He went back into the room and they heard the rush of the fireplace signaling his exit.

"Very magnanimous of you," Lupin said, leaning against the counter near the stove.

"I'm still mad as hell at him," she said warningly. "But we've always been friends. I never wanted that to change."

"He'll get over it," he assured her. "I say that from experience."

"Ah, yes, you told me you once had an unrequited love, I believe," Hermione said lightly. "You never confessed it, though?"

Lupin shook his head.

She nodded. "As long as it's unvoiced, hope remains, however small," she said, mostly to herself. "Little chance of outright rejection."

"Equally little chance of fruition," he added.

"That's the dilemma," she agreed.

"You sound as though you might be speaking from experience," he said curiously, wondering where this talk had come from.

She shrugged and sipped her tea. "Merely hypothetical," she said. "If I were to fall in love with a friend, I would be terrified of confessing it. It could ruin everything."

Something in the intensity of her eyes betrayed the truth behind her words. This did not seem like an innocent speculation. He spoke guardedly. "Perhaps a strong friendship can withstand such a thing. In fact, when dealt with honestly, it might get stronger. Or, I imagine sometimes it becomes more than a friendship."

"I suppose it's a question of whether the potential benefit outweighs the risk."

"Love is always a risk," he answered without thinking.

She blinked at him, astonished and strangely satisfied by his words, and stood to take her empty cup to the sink. Lupin was suddenly aware that this conversation had been about much more than Ron. He felt as though he had walked unwittingly into a trap, but he could not bring himself to regret it. When he looked at her again, the heat in her gaze had returned, and she was watching him intently. His heart quickened in his chest, aided by her sudden proximity at the counter.

"Are you going to make me confess?" she asked him quietly.

He gaped at her, his mind racing in every direction at once. He couldn't pretend he didn't know what she meant. The rising temperature between them had reached a fever pitch, and he worried that steam might start screaming from his ears soon if he did not take some action. The truth, if he allowed himself to acknowledge it, was that he had grown to need the heat she sent him, and even to crave it.

"Hermione…" he managed to say, but then closed his mouth.

"Remus," she replied softly, as if she had been waiting a lifetime to utter that word.

Something in him snapped, and he vaguely recognized it as his self-control. "Forgive me," he murmured, and crashed his lips against hers. She thrust her fingers into the hair at the back of his head and scratched his scalp lightly, deepening the kiss for a moment, then suddenly broke away to look at his face. He was staring at her lips.

"Don't do this to humor me," she warned him.

He shook his head and captured her mouth with his again in answer, hoping she could feel the passion he could not express in words.

This time he broke away, sliding his hands up her arms and pushing distance between them. "Harry will be back soon," he reminded her.

_Who's Harry? _She nodded, a bit dazed. He met her eyes and smiled, and her stomach fluttered at the sight. Not only was a genuine smile rare on his lips, and not only was it a terribly handsome sight to see, but she knew it was for _her_ alone. She gave him a grin of her own and leaned up for one last, chaste kiss. "Goodnight, Lupin," she said affectionately.

"Goodnight, Granger."

As soon as he'd left the room, Hermione felt a bit colder. She washed their teacups absentmindedly, her mind reeling, replaying every word and gesture of the last several minutes over and over again. Her lips tingled with the memory of touching _his_. The man she'd been secretly admiring for what must have been years now. The affection had crept up so gradually that she'd hardly noticed it until it had bloomed into a desire never to be far from him. And tonight, he had kissed her. She smiled secretly to herself and went upstairs to her bedroom, falling into her bed and into peaceful dreams.

Remus climbed the stairs to his room in a daze. Once safely inside, he sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. He thought it must have been a dream. There was no way that only moments ago, his mouth was pressed against Hermione's. It wasn't possible that she had sucked on his bottom lip or caressed his tongue. And yet, his flesh remembered the touch. He undressed without really attending to his task, and lay on his still-made bed, his interlaced fingers behind his head. He did not think sleep would come easily tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

In the morning, Lupin went downstairs to find Harry distractedly drinking orange juice and munching on toast. "Good morning, Harry," he said.

"Morning, Lupin," he replied with little enthusiasm.

Lupin regarded him curiously. "All right?"

Harry sighed. "Ron was pretty upset last night," he said. "I didn't get much sleep."

Remus felt a stab of guilt. "He's not handling the rejection well, I take it?"

"He's being a stupid git," Harry said with a bit more anger than Remus had expected. "He seems to think Hermione should be fawning all over him. As if she should have been simply sitting around waiting for him to declare his love for her." Harry rolled his eyes. "As much as I love Ron, I think Hermione can do better."

Remus looked over the young man who had become rather like a surrogate nephew over the past several years, and of whom he was quite proud. At the moment, this young man looked concerned.

"I'm worried about her," Harry confessed. "She'd gone to bed by the time I got back last night. Did she seem upset to you?"

"Only at first. Ron said a hurtful thing or two, and she nearly believed him," Remus replied. "I think she quickly realized that the problem is Ron and not herself."

Harry looked relieved. "That's good. I'm glad you were here to comfort her."

Remus inwardly cringed. "You're quite a good friend to Hermione."

"Just returning the favor, really," Harry replied. "She's the best friend a person could have."

"Harry…" Remus began, unsure if he wanted to know the answer to the question he was about to ask. "Are you in love with her?"

He looked taken aback. "Of course not," he answered. "I mean—that came out wrong. I love her dearly, but I'm not in love with her. She's family."

Remus nodded, glad that was out of the way. He wondered if Harry would think him good enough for his dear friend. "Like some eggs?" he asked.

"Yeah, great," Harry answered, finishing his toast. Remus went to the counter and silently cooked enough eggs for the three of them. Although his back was to the door, he knew the moment Hermione reached the bottom of the stairs and approached the kitchen.

"Hermione!" Harry said in surprise. "You look lovely! Here I am worried sick about you, and you look better than I've ever seen you!"

Remus's head did not snap toward her, but only through serious conscious effort. Instead, he took three plates from the cupboard and began filling them with scrambled eggs.

"Thank you, Harry," she replied softly. Remus could practically feel her blushing. "But I can't look that different."

"Lupin, doesn't she look…I don't know…?" Harry tried to amend himself. "Don't get me wrong, Hermione, I'm not astonished that you look pretty, it's just…" He trailed off

Remus permitted himself the audacity of turning slowly to look at her, putting two plates of food on the table as if using it as an excuse. She nodded a "thank you" and blushed even harder under his gentle, appraising gaze. He smiled subtly at her. She was wearing normal muggle clothes, but her face was bright and relaxed. "You look happy," he murmured thoughtfully.

She tried to look sober. "Well, thank you both, I suppose. To be honest, I'm glad Ron and I had it out. At least now we're both clear, and hopefully we can put it behind us."

Harry smiled at his friend. "I should have known better than to worry about you," he said tenderly. She clasped their hands together, leaning in and kissing his cheek affectionately. Remus couldn't help the surge of jealousy he felt, but he buried it deep below the surface. Rationally, he had nothing to fear, and was warmed by their close friendship. His wolfish instincts, however, sensed a threat…

"Thank you for seeing my side of things," she said to Harry, pouring herself a glass of juice. Remus sat down across from them with his own plate and allowed her to fill his glass, as well.

"It's an unfortunate situation, but it's no one's fault. Ron's temper doesn't let him see reason, but he will eventually. You can't help who you love," Harry said sagely. Remus raised his eyes to glance at the woman sitting across the table from him, to find her already staring at him with intense eyes that looked like they were smiling. He averted his gaze to stare dreamily at a crack in the wall on the other side of the kitchen. Perhaps, Remus hoped, love might not be beyond his grasp.

He heard Harry's deep laughter fill the room and looked up at him curiously. Harry was eyeing him with a knowing glint. "Remus, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were love struck!" he said, and howled with laughter.

Remus chuckled weakly.

"Speaking of which, I'm late to meet Ginny," Harry said, hastily wiping his mouth and standing. He slapped Remus on the back. "I wish you would meet someone, Remus, and be stupidly happy. That goes for you, too, Hermione. I'd like to see the two of you in love."

He blinked, realizing how that had sounded, and then laughed again at his mistaken wording. "Well, now, there's a thought!" he said cheerfully as he headed out the front door.

Remus and Hermione stared at each other, stricken with horror at the thought that Harry was playing some sort of joke on them.

"Do you think he knows—?" Remus wondered.

"He can't possibly," Hermione replied, a bit sourly.

"Is it obvious?"

"I hope not," Hermione huffed. A few seconds later, she added, "I think we need to talk about last night." Standing suddenly without giving him much room to protest, she beckoned him to join her. He followed her past the lounge, guilt surging through him again at the memory of what occurred there the night before. She led him to the library and sat on one of the more comfortable couches in the corner. He decided to speak first and assuage his conscience.

"Last night you were broken up about Ron, and I feel terrible for taking advantage of your vulnerability," he said contritely.

"Remus," she said, putting her hand on his to stop him from going any further. "I _was_ upset, but only briefly. The truth is that I feel bad about last night, too—" Remus flinched, and she hurried to finish her sentence—"but not the way you think. I feel guilty for how little I care about my fight with Ron. I mean, he confessed his love for me, and less than an hour later, I was…well, you were there. You didn't take advantage of me. If anything, I took advantage of your sympathy. As soon as I saw a chance to tell you how I felt, I forgot about him. And when you kissed me, I confess I was no longer even aware of Ron's presence in the world. I was only thinking about you. I'm always thinking about you."

The heat of her skin on his hand was nothing compared to the fire in her eyes. "Hermione, you're doing it again," he groaned.

"What am I doing?" she wondered, puzzled.

"When you look at me like that…I can _feel_ it. You've been doing it for months, and I can't tell you how exhausting it's been _not_ kissing you."

She thrilled at his words and smiled softly. "Should I avert my gaze?"

"I would rather you didn't," he replied, his voice low. "It's inappropriate, and lascivious, and distracting, and I wouldn't have you look at me any other way."

She shivered at the rough tone of his voice. "It's only for you," she answered.

He exhaled and closed his eyes. "Merlin, Hermione, what are you doing to me?"

"The same thing you're doing to me, I'd imagine." She leaned in and kissed him rather soundly. He could scarcely believe his ears. All he could do to reply was bury his fingers in her barely-tamed hair and pull her lips against his. She slid onto his lap and he winced slightly as her weight settled onto a yet unhealed wound from the recent full moon. She noticed immediately and gingerly removed herself from him.

"I'm so sorry," she said worriedly.

He waved a hand dismissively. "It's not severe." He cursed his affliction for its seemingly infinite limitations. He sighed. "I'm sorry. Once again, lycanthropy spoils the mood."

She smiled at him. "Nonsense. We'll just have to take things a bit more slowly until you're fully recovered."

In spite of himself, he grinned at her implication of exactly what would happen _after_ he had fully recovered. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face against her neck. "Hermione," he said reverently. "I don't deserve you."

"You deserve to be happy," she replied, kissing his temple.


	6. Chapter 6

That night, Remus was startled awake by he knew not what. When it became apparent that further sleep would not be forthcoming, he sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He got out of bed and crept softly out of his room and toward the stairs, fantasizing about a cup of hot chocolate. He was halfway down the hallway when he heard a soft, muffled sound coming from Hermione's room. He didn't want to invade her privacy yet again, but couldn't help himself from pressing his ear to the door. What he heard made his heart fall to his stomach. She was sobbing softly.

He eased the door open and slipped inside the room, gazing at the form of the girl on the bed. She was completely asleep and apparently in the middle of a nightmare of some sort, occasionally crying out something unintelligible that might have been the name "Harry."

He approached her and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing tears from her cheeks. "Hermione," he said softly. "Wake up, love."

Paralyzing terror gripped her like a cold hand squeezing her heart, chilling the blood that coursed through her veins and sending a painful, icy tingling outward to her skin. She was plummeting toward consciousness at the speed of free fall, except she had the sensation of falling upward into open air. The tingling vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and she opened her eyes with a shiver.

Inches from her face was a pair of amber-flecked eyes, soft and full of concern.

"You were having a nightmare," Remus said gently. "It's okay now."

Hermione blinked and quickly put several pieces of information together. The room was quite dark, but she recognized it as her own bedroom at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. She couldn't help the slight surge of excitement she felt in realizing that Remus was in her bedroom in the middle of the night. She also surmised that the comfortable weight on her chest was his large, warm hand sprawled over her heart. The weight was lifted when his hand rose to push the hair out of her face.

"Speak to me, love," he implored.

"I'm okay," she whispered, sitting up, her voice hoarse from disuse. She noticed that he wasn't wearing a shirt and his hair was dissheveled, as if he'd just rolled out of bed. Forbidding her eyes from roaming over his naked torso, she realized he was still stroking her hair. She stopped his hand with hers and turned her head to place a kiss in the center of his palm. "Thank you. I'm sorry if I woke you."

He shook his head. "You didn't. I couldn't sleep, and then I heard you crying. Are you sure you're all right?"

She nodded and wiped her eyes. "I never remember what they're about," she said, and he realized she must have nightmares relatively regularly, though this was the first time he'd ever heard her mention the subject. "I just wake up with this nebulous, empty terror."

He nodded, for he too had nightmares. He was sad to see someone as young and good as Hermione plagued with them. "Can you get back to sleep?"

She nodded and offered him a grateful smile. He stood up and made to leave, but she stopped him before his hand reached the doorknob. "Remus?" she asked timidly, biting her lip when he turned back to her. "Would you stay?"

He looked at her silently for a moment, suppressing the twinge of warmth and excitement he felt at her asking him thus. "Of course," he replied, returning to her bedside. She slid over and pulled back the covers, and he slipped in beside her, glimpsing the t-shirt and shorts she wore to sleep. He hesitated, unsure how close to her he should get, or what sort of sleeper she was. She removed these uncertainties for him by snuggling up against his chest and melding warmly into him. He closed his eyes and relished the feeling of her soft body.

Remus awoke very early the next morning, as he usually did. He kept his eyes closed, wishing for more sleep, but as always it eluded him. He heard soft breathing beside him, and he took stock of what was happening around him. He was on his side, pressed against Hermione's back. He could feel her bare legs entwined with his. He opened his eyes finally to see her wild mane of hair spread across the pillow. He remained lying there listening to Hermione's breathing for as long as he could, then, with a quiet sigh, resolved to get up and start breakfast. At least it was a Saturday, and he could let Hermione sleep in, and hopefully spend the day with her, as Harry would be off with Ginny. They would probably need to talk. As much as he hated to, he disentangled his limbs from hers and got up from the bed, careful not to disturb her sleeping form. He was halfway across the floor when he heard a small, petulant voice.

"Remus," she whined.

He went back and bent down to kiss her forehead. "Good morning, love. Go back to sleep."

"I'm cold. I want my blanket back," she said sleepily. He nearly had enough time to notice the blanket bunched up around her ankles before her hand closed around his wrist and yanked him down on top of her. He chuckled and buried his face against her neck, not protesting as she wrapped herself around him and held him close. "I love my blanket," she whispered.

When he awoke again, his first thought was one of surprise that he had, after all, fallen back asleep. His second was the realization that Hermione was no longer pressed against him. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, feeling despondent at her absence. He got dressed while his mind was busy wondering whether she'd had some appointment this morning. When he reached for his wand on the bedside table, he saw a small note scrawled there:

I hope my blanket doesn't feel discarded, but he looked very

peaceful and perhaps in need of a hearty breakfast.

He smiled and slipped the note into his pocket before heading downstairs, following his nose. He padded softly into the kitchen, where she was deftly flipping pancakes and humming to herself. Creeping up behind her, he threw his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. She squealed in surprise and dropped the spatula, but his lips on her neck sufficed for an apology. "Good morning," he murmured. He rested his chin on her shoulder and peered hungrily at the food.

Waving off his helping hands, she sat him down at the table with a cup of tea and chatted to him while she finished making breakfast. He watched her distracted movements while he listened to her voice, her mind clearly more engaged in the book she was telling him about than frying sausages.

She set plates of food on the table as he poured them each a glass of juice. He kissed her temple when she sat beside him. "Thank you for breakfast."

She kissed his cheek. "You're welcome."

They ate in a comfortable silence. They smiled gratefully at each other when Remus refilled her glass and she passed him the toast.

"Did Harry go out?" he wondered.

"Yes, he said he'd be out with Ginny all day," she said with a quirked eyebrow.

"He's been spending quite a lot of time with Miss Weasley lately," Remus observed in a carefully neutral tone.

Hermione grinned. "They're both smitten. It's about time; they've been silently pining for each other for ages."

"I had no idea."

"Well, they're keeping it as quiet as they can. Harry's had enough of the limelight."

"I can't blame him for that. What are you doing today?" he asked, leaning forward to gaze at her.

"Whatever you're doing today," she replied with a dazzling smile. She picked up their empty coffee cups and carried them to the sink. He stood up to help, but with a few flicks of her wand the kitchen was spotless. He took her hand and stepped up very close to her, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"Whatever I'm doing?" he repeated in a low voice that made her shiver. He nuzzled against her jaw and kissed her neck.

"Mmhmm," she breathed.

"Guess I'll have a go at cleaning the attic, then," he said lightly, and laughed at her huff of indignance.

"You prat." She buried her face against his chest and inhaled deeply. She had never had much occasion to see this carefree and happy side of him.

"Hermione, would you have dinner with me tonight?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied.


	7. Chapter 7

They did not clean the attic together after all, but spent a quiet morning sitting together and talking. After lunch Remus announced that he had to leave her alone for a few hours, but promised to be back by 6:00 for their dinner date. He wouldn't tell her where he was taking her, but said it was a casual restaurant.

The late afternoon sun was starting to form long amber streaks on the carpet, and her eyes were growing tired. She closed the book she was scanning and sighed. She was nervous. She didn't know why she should be nervous; she had lived for years in the same house as Remus, and going on a date with him shouldn't have made her timid. She wished she could consult someone. Ginny could help, but she and Harry were going to be together in London all day. Besides, there was no way Ginny would help her get ready for a date without dragging out of her the name of her suitor. And telling Ginny meant that Harry would certainly find out…

She frowned. It wouldn't do to start worrying about that now. The task at hand was to take her mind off of her worries and focus on something positive. She thought about waking up and finding him in her bed that morning, and broke out into an involuntary grin. He had been fast asleep and she had simply watched him for the longest time. He looked so young and carefree while he slept. She had wanted so badly to kiss him, to touch him, to wake him up so that he would kiss and touch her, but she'd restrained herself. Mostly. She had permitted her fingers to smooth over the lines of his face.

This line of thinking reminded her of two nights before, when she'd slid onto his lap and felt real, physical evidence of his attraction to her. She shivered at the memory of how little control she'd had over her own body at that moment. Part of her was glad he'd stopped them, for she wasn't the sort of person to simply fall into bed with someone on a whim. She had never wanted to before. A much larger part simply wanted him.

She was sure that his wounds must have healed by now, but he hadn't made a move to touch her with anything more than warm affection. She wondered if tonight after their date he would be more forward.

If not, she decided, she would have to be.

With a sigh, she resolved that it was a good a time as any to start getting ready. She showered and tamed her mane, then examined her wardrobe. There were few pieces of clothing there that she hadn't worn routinely around the house. She knew Remus probably wouldn't mind, but settled anyway on a pretty sundress she hadn't had much occasion to wear anywhere.

She had a half hour to spare, so she sat on her bed, careful not to wrinkle herself too much, and picked up the book at her bedside.

The knock on her door drew her attention out of its absorption in her book and reminded her that she had a date with Remus tonight. Glad she'd killed her nerves enough to have stopped thinking about it for a little while, she checked the mirror and opened the door.

She found Remus shifting uncertainly on his feet and holding a small bouquet of daisies. She smiled at the flowers and then at him.

"So sorry to keep you waiting," he muttered, running a nervous hand through his sandy hair. She took the flowers and stepped away from the door to let him inside while she conjured a vase and put a preservation charm on the flowers. "Too clichéd?" he asked.

"No! I love the flowers," she replied, stepping up to him and kissing his cheek. "Thank you."

He visibly relaxed. "You look lovely."

"So do you."

"Shall we?"

He apparated them to a street she did not recognize, and they walked the rest of the way. "Would you mind if we made a stop before dinner? There's somewhere I'd like to show you."

She grinned at him and looped her arm through his. "I'll go anywhere with you."

He led her to a rather stately building, which she thought was quite beautiful on its own. As they walked inside, she began to realize where she was.

"Is this…a muggle art museum?" she asked with quiet surprise.

"Yes. It's my favorite. My mum used to bring me here as a boy. She liked to paint."

She looked at him with piqued interest. He never talked about his parents, but now he seemed to be recalling happy memories. She dropped her hand between them and entwined their fingers. "I love art," she murmured.

"I thought you might."

They meandered through the museum, each of them taking turns pulling the other toward a painting to talk excitedly about the artist, technique, balance, emotion. They could have gotten lost for hours were it not for their hungrily protesting stomachs.

He took her next to a muggle restaurant that Remus informed her served the best Thai food he'd ever had.

She studied him from across the table as he glanced around the restaurant. His shirt was a bit threadbare, as was always the case, but the blue-gray button-down matched his eyes. He looked handsome, and she felt a tightening in her stomach that made her smile.

She loved the food, but she wished Remus would relax a bit. He had been fine at the museum, but since sitting down at their table he was on edge. She wasn't sure why, though she had a hunch.

"You haven't been on a date in a while, have you?" she asked gently.

"It shows?" he groaned.

She chuckled. "Remus, I've never seen you so nervous. And I've seen you in quite a few nerve-wracking circumstances." She took his hand across the table. "It's only me."

"At school, dates with me were rather notoriously…disastrous," he admitted. "Since then, I have not had much occasion to date."

She smiled kindly. "Well, I'm having a lovely time. It should be easier since we live together. You don't have to wonder whether I'll ask you to come inside at the end of the night," she joked, hoping her hint wouldn't be lost on him.

He smiled back at her and squeezed her hand. "I don't know, you could lock me out of the house," he retorted. After that, they conversed easily, mostly about art and music. They agreed to visit museums together more often.

After their meal, they apparated closer to home, but not too close, for they both felt like walking. Hand-in-hand, they enjoyed the cool night air on their skin. Remus was gazing upward at the stars.

"It's a lovely night," she commented, glancing at him in time to meet his gaze.

"The stars are beautiful," he agreed. "As much as I've grown to despise the moon, I could never lose the awe inspired by the night sky."

She leaned against him and drank in the wonderful feeling of ending a lovely date with a lovely man.

They arrived home and walked up the stairs together, their hands still joined until they reached her bedroom door.

He touched her hair as if trying to memorize every curl and looked as though he wanted to say something. Then, two warm hands were cupping her jaw, and his lips were moving softly on hers. Seconds later, he suddenly broke away and released her from his grasp. "Goodnight."

She watched him walk away down the hallway toward his own bedroom, then slipped inside hers. He hadn't made a single move.


	8. Chapter 8

Note: There be smut ahead. Posting this is vaguely embarrassing. I've certainly never shared this sort of writing with anyone.

This is really short to avoid an awkward break. The next will be longer, and up very soon.

______

Remus had scarcely closed the door of his bedroom before there was a knock at it. He opened it and saw her standing there, the lips he'd just kissed looking pink, her eyes wild with either anger or desire. Perhaps both.

"Hermione," he said cautiously.

"You silly man," she exhaled, launching herself at him, her lips demanding what he'd tried to deny. He swept her up in his arms and kissed her properly, his mouth crashing against hers and pushing her backward against the inside of the door.

"Remus," she moaned softly into his mouth. "Are you healed?"

"Don't care," he murmured, his lips brushing her earlobe and then trailing down her jaw.

She suddenly pushed him away from her and he felt desperate at the thought that she might not want him the way he wanted her. The dark lust in her eyes reassured him, and when he gave her a questioning look she tipped her head toward the bed. Without warning, she lunged for him him, pushing him clumsily backward until they fell to the mattress together. His trembling hand traveled over her breasts while his hot tongue stroked hers. He pressed the tip of his wand to her abdomen and murmured a spell she'd never heard cast, then tossed his wand aside with the rest of their shed clothing. Her fingers worked at his pants with only touch to guide them, finally freeing him. "Promise me you won't regret this," he said desperately against her lips.

"Never. I've been waiting so long," she moaned.

He tore away her underwear, feeling how wet she was for him. As much as he'd wanted to take this slowly, he now realized that he would never make it. "I'm sorry," he whispered mournfully, his breath hot against her ear. "This won't be gentle. I need to get inside you."

His words made her ache for him. "Don't be sorry, I need you, too," she replied. He pushed her knees apart roughly and she wrapped her legs around his waist. His broad hands gripped her hips tightly and he thrust inside her, finally enveloped in the heat he had felt radiating from her for months. She cried out and closed her eyes as he pounded into her, fucking her into the mattress. Her hands tangled in his hair as she sucked his neck and bit his earlobe in encouragement. "Fuck me harder," she murmured. He slammed his hips into hers, and thought vaguely that he was being too rough, but she only whimpered and clutched at his shoulders and moaned his name in response.

This was better than all her fantasies combined, she realized. She could not have anticipated this feeling; she could feel the coiled power of his tensed muscles as his body moved against hers, surrounding and pressing urgently inside her. His mouth was over hers, and always faithfully returned when it strayed to suck at her neck.

"Remus," she muttered reverently over and over as he felt her body shudder its release around him. He kissed her lips as his hips jerked forward and he held himself deep while he came, groaning with the force of his orgasm. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder as they both paused to breathe before he pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Shouldn't have put that off, eh?" he said apologetically.

"Absolutely not." She smiled and settled against his chest, feeling comfortably exhausted. She slept in his bed for the first time that night, curled up against his chest.


	9. Chapter 9

Warning: sex.

_____

Hermione's mind was, for once, slower to wake than her body. She gazed uncomprehendingly at the windows she was facing, whose curtains were decidedly the wrong color. And she didn't recognize the spines of the book on the bookcase in the corner. More troubling than that, perhaps, was the soft, warm pillow pressed against her back. The fact that this pillow was breathing on her neck seemed to jostle her memory into gear.

_Oh. Right._

She turned around to face him and was startled to find him awake and watching her. The small frown on his lips made her nervous. He seemed to be deep in thought. "What is it?" she asked.

"I'm conflicted," he confessed.

She gave him her full attention. "Tell me your conflict."

"My mind is screaming that this is irresponsible of me. I'm twice your age and a werewolf. I've got no money or job, and I'm quite used to being alone," he explained helplessly. "Also, there's Harry to think of, and our friends. I doubt they would approve."

"A conflict has at least two sides," she reminded him.

He locked eyes with her. "I want you," he said honestly. "_Gods_, I want you. All of it seems nothing if you want me, too."

She reached with her own small hand to stroke his face, tracing the white scars there.

"I've thought about all the things you mentioned," she answered. "For quite some time. Of course I don't care a bit about your lycanthropy or your age."

He delighted in how easily she dismissed his condition as irrelevant.

"I hope you don't think I could possibly care about your money. Or what other people think, for that matter. The people who matter will accept us unconditionally." She entwined her fingers with his. "But I don't think that's what you were really asking. I know you're used to being alone. I know you're not used to trusting people…" It was painful for her to think about his past, and how unfair his life had been. "But I want you," she confessed. "Just as you are."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her against him. "I'm not entirely convinced I'm awake," he murmured, falling into a yawn. His fears and concerns weren't gone, but he was content to forget about them for the moment.

She studied his face for a moment. "What should we tell our friends? About us?"

"I don't think I'm ready to shock our general acquaintance just yet," he said dryly.

"No, I think we should be discreet. We don't need a dozen people prying into our lives before we've had a chance to get comfortable," she agreed, relieved.

"I've never had a secret lover before," he confessed.

She delighted in him calling her thus and smiled as her cheeks grew pinker. "Neither have I."

"It sounds terribly scandalous," he intimated.

"Which puts me to mind…any other secrets I should know about?" she wondered with mock-sternness.

His face fell, and he looked at her gravely. "Hermione…I should have told you this earlier, I know, and I'll understand if you hate me," he began sadly. Her heart sank in her chest, the playful mood gone. "You see…I'm a werewolf."

She glared at him hard, and laughed in spite of herself.

"I'm pregnant with our love child," he added, no longer able to keep up a semblance of seriousness. "I like to wear women's underwear in private, and I've always had a penchant for black leather," he finished, laughing heartily.

"You're something of a scoundrel. And a pervert, at that," she scolded mirthfully.

He watched her with a smile in his eyes, astonished by his own remarkable good fortune.

"I'm sorry that last night was so…rushed."

"It's what we both needed," she replied.

"Well, I fully intend us to take our time this morning," he murmured huskily, sliding his hands all over her.

"That sounds fantastic," she moaned as his fingers brushed a nipple through her thin shirt.

He pushed the material up, exposing her stomach to his soft lips and tongue. She sat up and raised her arms so he could pull it off and toss it across the room. He returned his hands to explore, touching her delicately. She watched him study her with a smile on her face, amused by (but respectful of) the patient, methodical way he went about learning her body. He nuzzled his face into her hair and inhaled deeply before pushing it away from her neck to make way for his lips and tongue. He found the spot that made her sigh with delight behind her earlobe, and the ticklish areas at the sides of her ribcage that had her giggling and panting.

He chuckled and kissed her lips, feeling her hands slide up and down his back, her fingertips tracing the scar tissue marking his skin. Her fingers stopped when they felt a large, bumpy patch on his left shoulder blade. She gasped softly when she realized what it was. "Is this where you were bitten?" she asked softly. He nodded and shifted uncomfortably, suddenly self-conscious. "May I see it?"

He rolled nervously to his stomach and rested his chin on his interlaced fingers. She straddled his lower back and found the semicircle of healed flesh again, stroking it tenderly. "Was it painful?"

"It was agony," he replied, focusing now on her delicate fingertips and the dance they were performing on his old scar.

"Does it still bother you?" she wondered.

"It aches just before transformations," he answered. He was astonished when he felt her hair tickle his arm and her lips press against the ragged spot. She wanted to kiss all of his scars, and as she moved her hands across his muscular back and shoulders she realized with a shiver how physically powerful he was, like a coiled spring.

He felt the shudder that ran through her body and buried his face in his pillow, wondering if she was completely disgusted.

She lay flat on top of him, pressing her bare chest to his bare back and kissed his spine. "Remus," she said, her breath ragged. "You're amazing."

"I'm what?" he asked, craning around sharply to look at her.

"Amazing," she repeated, kissing his neck.

He was dumbfounded. "Come here," he said, motioning for her to move so he could face her.

She slid off his back and lay beside him. "You look as though you don't believe me," she said with a laugh.

"You're not disgusted?" he said cautiously.

Her face sobered immediately and she brushed his lips with hers, teasing them apart and tasting his tongue. "That's not the word I would use, no," she murmured against his lips, sliding a palm down his lean bicep. "I've been imagining what I would find under your clothes for months now. Please believe me when I say that I am not in the least disappointed." Her hand slid down his chest to his abs. "Although, I would have loved to have found a dirty little tattoo or something. But now I think my unforgivable curiosity has killed the mood because you're no longer touching me."

"Hermione," he said reverently, full of relief and gratitude as he crashed his lips against hers. She had seen everything he had always tried to hide—his condition, his transformation, his scars—and come through it unscathed, and better yet she still desired him. Every relationship he had ever had with a woman was measured in the amount of time between meeting her and that fateful moment when either she accidentally discovered his lycanthropy or he hopefully and foolishly told her—the moment that each of those relationships had ended. As his lips traveled her neck and his palm found her soft, perfect breast, something in the back of his mind reminded him that this was no normal girl. "I love your curiosity," he grinned.

Confidence restored, he was delighted to resume his playful exploration of her body. She twitched in silent laughter when he briefly but purposefully tickled her side again. This time, his hand wandered lower, slipping under the waistband of his shorts slung loosely around her abdomen. His palm followed the curve of her hip around to grip her backside. She rolled to her back and pulled him with her, raising her hips so he could pull the shorts down and off. He sat on his heels for a moment and beheld her naked form for the first time, lying in his bed, covered in softly flushed skin, and looking up at him a bit shyly. He felt his own body responding to her image, growing in anticipation.

"You're beautiful," he murmured.

She smiled and pressed a hand to his chest to stop him from settling on top of her. "I want to see you, too." He lay on his back and she knelt beside his hips, grasping the elastic of his shorts and pulling them down. Her eyes swept down his body and her mouth twisted into a shameless grin. She slid her hand down his stomach and gripped him gently, eliciting a soft groan from his lips.

He rolled her to her back and settled between her thighs, and she stroked his calves with her delicate feet. When he kissed her again, she wondered if he was waiting for some signal from her that she was ready.

"Make love to me, Remus," she said sweetly, and kissed his jaw. In contrast to the night before, their movements this time were much slower, much more experimental and tentative. They were learning each other, and it allowed plenty of time for both of them to feel awkward. However, once Remus pushed his length into her and sucked gently on her skin where her neck met her shoulder, there was no uncertainty. "Oh," she said softly, little more than an exhale. As he ground his hips against hers, moving inside her in slow strokes, he could feel her breath in short bursts against his cheek.

Hermione had the odd sensation of fullness each time he thrust into her, despite never having felt emptiness before. He was touching deep places she hadn't known about, and having his body inside hers felt foreign and fitting all at once. "Remus," she whispered hotly against his lips, and captured his mouth with hers. She wrapped a leg around his waist, pressing her foot into the small of his back to pull him deeper and urge him faster. He grunted softly and increased the pace, and she lifted her hips to meet his thrusts. His mouth sucked her neck and he supported his weight on one arm so his free hand could touch her soft breast.

The night before, he had been rough and urgent, lacking the self-restraint he showed at most other times, confirming her fantasy of how-it-might-be. She had enjoyed making him lose control. However, his lovemaking this morning was so different, much more like the unhurried, patient Remus she had always known, and while it was different, it was just as good—perhaps better.

He doubted she was conscious of the tiny sounds she was making, or the flashes of pleasure on her face for him to read. In his dreams, she had moaned or called out his name, and he was a bit surprised to find her actually rather quiet. She wore an expression of concentration on her face, which coupled with her flushed skin and hot, panting breath, told him that she was nearing an orgasm. Her fingers scraped haphazardly against the skin of his back and she opened her eyes to look at him. He was surprised by their clarity when she smiled and kissed him, finally moaning into his mouth as her body shook beneath him. Her hot muscles tightened around him and he pushed into her with a few final, erratic thrusts, spilling over the edge. He kissed her mouth and face, tasting the salty sheen of perspiration on her skin and smiling exhaustedly as he lay beside her.

She was startled when the man lying next to her began a low chuckle deep in his chest. She had scarcely ever heard him laugh before, and this seemed like a highly unlikely time for it. She looked at him curiously. "I am fairly certain that laughing immediately after sex is considered impolite."

"I believe there's an exception if it happens to have been the best sex of your short life," he said mirthfully, pulling her close to him. "Forgive me…I've scarcely spoken casually to a woman, much less touched or kissed one in the last…" he glanced at the ceiling, "seventeen years? I had nearly forgotten what it's like."

His face had taken on a youthful glow, and despite the physical exhaustion, Hermione thought he looked less worn-out than usual.

"Then I suppose I'll take it as a compliment," she replied.

He beamed at her. "A soaring accolade!"

"You deserve heavy praise yourself," she smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

Note: Sorry this took so long. I couldn't get myself to finish the scene (read: the sex). It's sort of a filler, though I did try to give it some purpose.

__________

"You know, the other night while Harry was off with Ron, I came by to see you," Ginny said conversationally as she and Hermione were shopping together in Diagon Alley. "The house was empty."

"Oh?" Hermione replied innocently. "Which night was that?" Hermione knew perfectly which night her friend was talking about. She'd only gone out one night that week, to a muggle movie with Remus. It had been their second date.

"Friday night," Ginny supplied. "I called back two hours later and you still weren't home."

"I'm sorry I missed you, Ginny," Hermione said kindly, disliking the glint in her shrewd friend's eye. "I'd gone out."

"I wish you'd told me you were going out alone. I'd have loved to spend the evening with you."

"Well, I…er…" Hermione blushed. She was a terrible liar, and felt cornered.

"I knew it! You had a date!"

"I did not!"

Ginny made a disappointed click. "Wasn't great, then?"

Hermione looked at her indignantly, only to see Ginny smirking at her. "You little weasel. Fine, I had a date. I am _trying_ to keep it quiet because I don't want to hurt your brother more than I already have."

Ginny's face softened, and she looped her arm through Hermione's. "I won't tell him. Does Harry know?"

"No," Hermione replied.

"Well, I won't tell him, either." She balked at Hermione's skeptical look. "I can keep secrets from Harry!"

"All right."

"Well?"

"What?"

"Well, you don't think you're going to tell me you've had a date and I'm going to let you off that easily?"

Hermione sighed. "Let's do this over lunch." If she was going to face an inquisition, she'd rather do it with a full stomach. "I _might_ answer _some_ of your questions."

"Who is he?"

"Nope. The less you know, the less you can accidentally tell Harry. You don't know him anyway," Hermione said dismissively.

"Where did you go?"

"A movie. And dinner."

"Movie?" Ginny pronounced the word awkwardly. "You're not dating a muggle?"

"No, he's a wizard," Hermione replied.

"Did he go to Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"Which house?"

"Move on, Ginny."

Ginny eyed her skeptically, then shrugged. "Is he handsome?"

"Very."

"Are you going to see him again?"

"Yes."

"Did he kiss you goodnight?"

"Yes."

"Did you shag him?"

"Ginny!" Hermione hissed.

"Really, Hermione, on the first date?" the redhead teased with a grin.

Hermione hesitated, then cringed. "Second date," she corrected. She didn't add that really _had_ shagged him on the first date, and might have done before that had they not been interrupted.

Ginny seemed satisfied. "So you like him."

Hermione thought about Ginny's words, and an involuntary smile crept onto her lips. "I like him," she confirmed.

****

The knock on her bedroom door had surprised her—he tended to stay away from her bedroom, always waiting for her to come to him—and she smiled when she saw him standing in the doorway. He hesitated, an unreadable expression on his face. She thought he looked a bit pale, but after all it was less than a week until the full moon.

"Come in," she entreated. He stepped inside and waited for her to close the door before wrapping his arms around her and kissing her urgently. Both kept their eyes closed and focused on the skin-on-skin sensation.

"Where did you go today?" he murmured conversationally, nuzzling her hair.

"Shopping with Ginny," she replied breathlessly.

He inhaled deeply. "Cloves."

"Hmm?"

"You smell faintly like cloves," he explained. "I smelled it when you arrived."

Again, she was mildly surprised. "Are your senses always so keen?" she wondered.

He nodded and kissed her temple. "Especially close to the moon."

"Is it a good smell?"

He nodded again. "You always smell good. The cloves are new, though."

"Ginny wanted a new perfume. I was admiring this one, and the saleswitch sprayed it at me before I could stop her. They were all spice-scented. She raved about how subtle it was."

"Most perfume is awful," he said. "Overpowering. But this, I like."

She smiled and made a mental note to buy a bottle of the expensive scent as soon as she was near a shop again. "You never come to me like this," she muttered against his neck.

"I don't want to invade your privacy," he replied.

"Is that what I'm doing when I come to your room?" she demanded softly.

"No, I'm happy to have you there."

"How is this different?"

"I have no right to ask for what you have given me," he lamented.

"Oh, Remus," she sighed, pulling him closer. She couldn't help the wave of affection that swept through her. She tried to keep in mind that his moods were being affected by the moon, and he seemed to be feeling more insecure as the month wore on. She reassured him the best she could. Before she could stop it, she blurted, "I'm in love with you."

She felt him stiffen in her arms, as if his entire body paused for a moment. He pulled back to look at her face. "Not sure I caught that."

"I love you," she repeated with a nervous smile.

He exhaled, and most of the tension left his body. He wrapped himself around her more firmly and tangled his fingers in her hair. "I'm in love with you, too."

"Come to bed with me," she murmured, tugging on his shirt and stepping backwards, drawing him with her. She stopped when the backs of her knees came in contact with her mattress. "You're welcome in my bed. And if ever you aren't…well, I'll tell you so."

He nodded and slid a hand over her breast, stroking her nipple with his thumb through layers of clothing. She drew her wand from its place at her hip and cast silencing, locking, and contraceptive charms before discarding it on her nightstand and focusing her attention on undressing the man before her. Once his shirt was off and thrown across the room, he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth gently and pulled her tank top up and up farther, until their lips had to part to allow her shirt to join his on the floor. He unclasped her bra and tossed it unceremoniously aside, his mouth trailing down her sternum and teasing her breasts. They both fumbled with pants, but soon enough they tumbled naked to the bed.

She kissed his chest and stomach, inching dangerously lower but carefully avoiding the painfully swollen part of his body that required her immediate attention. She smirked at him mischievously before straddling his hips, leaning down to press her lips to his. She simply kissed him for minutes, making small sounds of pleasure and relishing the tiny moans she dragged from him. He slid his hands down her back to grip her arse and sink his fingerips into her flesh while her tongue worked inside his mouth. He could feel her wet cunt pressing against his lower abdomen. She slid down his length, impaling herself with a sharp hiss. He gripped her hips and moved his mouth across her breasts, paying particular attention to her hard, rosy nipples. He fought against his own self-control to avoid flipping them over and pounding into her, instead letting her set the pace and drive him insane. Her moans became louder and her movements more erratic as her body shuddered and she rode him to her completion.

He thrust up into her a few times when she no longer had control over her muscles and moaned her name as he came. He wrapped his arms around her as she slid beside him and kissed his neck exhaustedly. "Good night," she whispered, and drifted off into sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

I'm sorry this took so long. I had a blockage, and ended up moving my ideas around a bit. This fic won't last too much longer. Fewer than five more chapters, I'd say. Probably more like three.

* * *

She was surprised to find Remus awake when she woke up a few hours later. By the darkness of the room, she surmised it was either very late or very early. Remus's head lay between her breasts, his fingertips softly playing over her ribs. She ran her fingers through his silky brown hair. "What are you doing?" she asked softly.

He picked up his head and looked at her. "Thinking."

She smiled. "Have you been awake all night long?"

"Not much longer than you."

"What are you thinking about?"

"I was contemplating whether it's worth leaving you to go sate my growling stomach. Are you hungry?"

"Famished," she replied gratefully.

"Kitchen raid, then, eh?" he waggled his eyebrows at her. She giggled and grudgingly crawled out of the soft, warm bed. She put some pajama pants, tied them around her hips, and found her tank top halfway under the bed. Remus pulled on his pants and lifted the locking charm on the room.

"Hopefully Harry won't be up to see you wandering about the house looking like that," he muttered as they crept quietly down the hallway toward the stairs.

"Like what?" she asked, looking down at her own appearance with a frown.

"Like you've just been shagging me," he answered with a smirk.

"Oh," she said casually, and with some relief. "I thought you meant I looked _bad_."

He smacked her bum playfully, ushering her into the kitchen ahead of him. He wasn't counting on her sudden halt, and barreled into the back of her rather un-gracefully.

"Harry!" she said in surprise. "What are you doing up at this time of night?"

He was sitting at the table with a cup of tea in his hand and a weary look on his face. His eyes passed tiredly over the disheveled state of his best friend and the man toppling into the kitchen behind her. "I couldn't sleep. I'll not ask you the same question."

Hermione glanced worriedly at Remus.

"Come and sit down, then," Harry said. "Like some tea?"

"Okay," Hermione said guardedly.

"Thanks," Remus agreed. Harry summoned two more teacups and filled them as the nervous pair sat at the table across from him. Hermione immediately began anxiously chewing her lower lip, looking back and forth between Remus and Harry.

"Settle down, Hermione, I'm not going to hex anyone," Harry said exasperatedly. It might have been a joke if he didn't look so drained. "I assume you were planning on telling me at some point?"

"Of course, Harry," Hermione said honestly. "It's rather new to us, you see."

Harry nodded solemnly. "Ron is going to kill both of you." He said it in all seriousness, and his voice sounded harsh and flat in the kitchen. Hermione shifted uncomfortably until he went on. "Unless Mrs. Weasley gets to you first." The corner of his mouth twitched upward a bit at that thought, and Hermione smiled in relief.

"Harry," she began softly. "Are you angry with us?"

He looked between them for a moment. "No," he replied. "I'm not even all that surprised. I love and respect you both," he said, looking directly at Remus. "I want you both to be happy."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said, grasping his hand in hers. "I love you so much…your support means a lot."

"Yes, it does," Remus said softly, looking back at Harry. He was always grateful, and a little bit surprised, whenever anyone did not assume the worst about him.

"Are you hungry, Harry?" Hermione asked him, concerned about him now that the most urgent matter had been taken care of.

"I am a bit," he admitted. She got up and moved to the other end of the kitchen to make them some sandwiches.

Harry put down his teacup and leaned forward to speak quietly to Remus. "I told you I thought she could do better than Ron," he stated.

Remus nodded tightly.

"I think she has," Harry finished. "Just please don't ever take her for granted."

Remus couldn't help the surge of affection he felt for the boy before him. He reminded Remus of his childhood friend, yes, but he'd become such a good man in his own right. "I will do my absolute best," he replied. Harry seemed to consider the matter closed, and picked up his cup again. "Harry," Remus said. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being who you are. Being there for her. For everyone."

Harry looked at Remus with a smile in his green eyes.

Hermione came over just then with a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of juice, levitating a stack of plates and glasses behind her. She sat beside Harry and they all filled their stomachs.

"Is it really just insomnia, Harry?" she asked him softly.

He shrugged. "The old dreams," he replied without giving too much more information. "They don't creep up too often anymore, but I can't get back to sleep afterward. I guess you'd be hard-pressed to find someone who doesn't suffer from occasional nightmares these days."

That gloomy thought silenced them all.

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered. "I'm terrible company tonight. We should all go out soon and celebrate. I really am happy for you."

"Will you be okay?" Hermione asked as they headed up the stairs. "Do you have any dreamless sleep potion?"

"No, I used the last a few months ago," he replied.

"I'll brew you some tomorrow," she said.

"Thanks. Goodnight," he said kindly. "I'll sleep it off tomorrow and be right as rain."

"Goodnight," they replied, knowing he wasn't likely to have one.


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry for the hiatus.

Lookout, it's teh secksy!

* * *

The next morning, Remus woke up beneath what felt like a heavy, very warm blanket. He opened his eyes and found Hermione with as much bare skin as possible pressed against him, her lips wandering over his neck.

"Good morning," he rasped, feeling his lower body beginning to stir beneath her.

"Good morning," she echoed, and then returned her lips to their previous—and damn worthwhile, thought Remus—occupation.

"What would I have to do to get you to wake me like this every morning?" he asked lazily, stretching his lithe muscles.

"Just ask," she replied, her lips moving over his jaw and finally reaching his lips. She kissed him sweetly, and he responded with heat, intensifying the kiss. "Remus, darling?" she said innocently against his lips.

"Mm?"

"There's something that I need."

"Of course. What is it, love?" he asked, his brain still not entirely rid of its haze of sleep.

She pressed her lips against his earlobe and whispered. "I need you."

His body, more awake than his mind, twitched at her words. She quickly pushed his boxers down his hips and thighs. His jaw gaped open a bit, and he looked at her in awe. She had rendered him quite speechless. She was looking down at him with a smug ghost of a smirk, but her eyes were filled with hunger—

—_For my flesh_, Remus thought darkly. The thought was more satisfying to the darker part of himself than perhaps it should have been. He noticed that she was watching him, her gaze calculating, no doubt trying to decipher his thoughts. He noted briefly that he had never seen her look so raw and ruthless. It was almost chilling.

She brought her lips to his collarbone, and he shivered but not from chill. "Remus," her voice commanded firmly but softly. "Stop thinking."

As her tongue and teeth moved across his skin, he felt his higher brain functions becoming duller, allowing the more primal parts of his mind to take charge. He rolled her to her back and pinned her beneath him, using his own mouth on her tender neck. When she looked up at him, she saw her hunger reflected in his eyes, his irises shining with peculiar amber flecks. He shoved her knees apart and settled his hips between her thighs. "Tell me again," he commanded.

"I need you," she repeated.

"You'll have to be more specific," he said, squeezing his strong fingers around her hip.

"I need you to fuck me," she said clearly. As soon as the last word had left her lips, he shoved himself inside her. "Yes," she hissed. Just then, something in Remus broke. The feel of her slick heat around him, her hot breath on his skin, the proximity of the next full moon, had him losing his grip on his self-restraint. He buried himself deep in her again and pressed his hot mouth over hers before dropping his head to the pillow and growling dangerously in her ear. He sucked and bit her shoulders as he pounded his hips roughly into hers. He fucked her hard, with less control than he had ever allowed himself before.

"Fuck—yes," she moaned, her fingers clutching his shoulders desperately. "Don't stop."

He continued slamming into her, and she encouraged him with her soft sounds and scratching fingernails. She came, her body crying out in spasms. He came hard, too, and wondered at his ability, so far, to keep up with her.

Neither spoke or moved for nearly five minutes.

"That was intense," he commented.

"That's an understatement," she murmured contentedly.

"I lost control," he said contritely.

"You're a control freak," she retorted.

He looked at her and frowned at the reddish spots on her neck and shoulders. "I bit you."

"I scratched up your back."

He grabbed his wand. "I'm sorry, allow me," he muttered, raising the tip to her bruised skin.

"Don't you dare." She swatted his wand away. "I'm quite proud of my battle wounds, thankyouverymuch."

"I don't want you to look like you've been attacked," he returned.

"Fine," she sighed, and waved her hand dismissively. "You'll just have to replace them later." He healed the small bruises with his wand and softly kissed her milky skin where each one had been, just for good measure.

"I've never heard such filth escape your lips. I loved it," he murmured, relaxing beside her and putting his wand back in its place on the nightstand.

"You make me think filthy things." She turned to face him.

"I'm so glad to have had a positive influence on such a brilliant young mind," he drawled.

xxxxx

Remus had fallen asleep again, and Hermione decided to let him rest. He would need his energy in a few days, and he rarely slept in. She pulled on her shirt and pajama bottoms and headed downstairs to make a pot of tea.

As she neared the bottom of the stairs, she heard footsteps, and thought Harry must be in the kitchen. When she was just outside the door, she remembered that she'd promised to brew him a potion, and reminded herself to find some time away from Remus.

She walked into the kitchen and collided with a dense body, glimpsing only a flash of red hair.

"Ronald!" she exclaimed in surprise. She was suddenly glad she'd caved and let Remus heal the marks on her skin.

"Hermione," he muttered. "I was looking for Harry."

"I don't know where he is," she said. She paused awkwardly, then moved around him and strode over to put the kettle on. "Would you like some tea?"

"Hermione, hang on."

She stopped and steeled herself for whatever unpleasant conversation was about to take place, gripping the back of one of the kitchen chairs for support.

"I'm sorry," he said nervously. "I behaved like an utter git. I didn't mean the things I said. I'd like us to be friends again."

Though stunned, she managed to force her voice past her throat. "We've always been friends. I hope we always will."

He grinned and plopped down in a chair. "How about that tea?"

She rolled her eyes and got out two cups instead of one. She poured his tea and added milk and two sugars, as he liked it, and sat across from him sipping her own cup.

"Thanks. You're getting a late start this morning," he said conversationally.

"I…er, didn't sleep very much last night," she replied, trying to lie as little as possible.

He gave her a knowing look. "Nightmares?"

She looked up at him curiously. "You too? I didn't think that—"

"Even simple-minded chaps like me have nightmares."

Hermione looked stricken. "Oh, I would never—"

"I'm just joking, 'Mione. I don't have them that often, but I know you and Harry still do."

"Ronald…you don't really…I mean, I don't really make you feel like you're not good enough, do I?"

He softened. "I told you I didn't mean those things. You're a great friend. You expect the best from everyone, and you get a bit frustrated when you don't get it, but that's for the better. You've probably improved me once or twice."

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "What do you want Harry for?" she asked.

"Hm?"

"You said you were looking for Harry," she reminded him patiently. "He might be upstairs."

"Oh, I wanted to invite him—and you and Lupin—to my birthday party," he said with a wide smile. "It's next Saturday."

Hermione returned his smile and was grateful that she'd bought him a present a few weeks ago. Her brain also reminded her that there was a full moon between now and then. "That sounds great."

"I'll go look for him. See you later, 'Mione."

She didn't correct his butchering of her name, and waved as he left the room.

xxxxx

She stayed downstairs until Ron returned from talking to Harry, who, as it turned out, was indeed upstairs. She said goodbye to Ron and prepared lunch before heading back to Remus's room. He was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. He picked his head up when she walked in.

"I heard Ron."

"He came to see Harry," she replied, sitting beside him. He sat up as well and gave her his full attention.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. He apologized, and I'd already forgiven him. He's invited us to his birthday party next weekend."

Remus nodded.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

Fear flashed over his face, and something else. She thought it was guilt. "We're going to have to tell our friends about us."

"Yes, we are. I won't push you to make it known," she assured him. "But I'd like to at least have a conversation about it."

He ran a nervous hand through his hair. "All right," he agreed.

"You seem to be quite worried about it. So I'd like you to tell me, exactly what is the worst that could happen? The most terrible reaction you can fathom," she prompted. He looked forlorn and didn't speak. "Go," she verbally nudged.

"Well," he considered carefully. "Molly Weasley will shriek that I am a filthy pervert for taking advantage of a young former student. Someone will call me a dirty half-breed. One or more of the Weasley boys will punch me about the face, Ron will hex me, and they'll all think less of you."

She nearly laughed, but caught herself and cleared her throat instead. "All valid concerns," she said diplomatically. "Now, you know that no one thinks of you that way,'" she began. "They hardly think of you as a werewolf at all. You're a friend, and a well-respected one."

"That may well be what they think of me," he replied a bit heatedly, "but I happen to know that respecting someone as a friend and colleague has little to do with thinking someone good enough to date one's sister or daughter, which is largely how our friends think of you. And I'll wager that if they have forgotten my lycanthropy, they will remember it after learning about our relationship!"

"You would not care what they thought about your lycanthropy if some part of you didn't agree with them," she said quietly. "If anyone told me that you were not good enough for me, I would tell them why they were wrong, and hex them for insulting you. But you would believe them, and maybe even agree with them, wouldn't you?"

He sighed and hung his head. "Yes."

"You cannot help your lycanthropy, and neither can I. It isn't your fault any more than it's mine. Furthermore, I will never allow others to decide the course of my life for me, be it you or anyone else. It is up to me and no one else to decide what and whom I want, and I have done that." She paused and kissed his cheek. "Have you decided what and whom you want?" she asked him seriously, holding his face in her hands.

He nodded weakly, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her.

In spite of the lecture she was giving him, he couldn't help feeling impressed. "Do you always confront your problems in such a direct way?" he questioned.

"I try," she replied with a shrug.

He was very proud of her, and in spite of himself, he felt a bit better.

"Don't forget, we have Harry's support already. As for Ron…he might well try to hex you," she admitted, chewing her poor little lip in concern. "I was thinking that perhaps I should tell him myself. Privately. Nothing to do with you, but because of my…relationship…with him."

Remus nodded. "I think that might be best. You should have Harry there."

Hermione agreed. "Let's see, what else? Oh, right. If anyone tries to punch you, you should punch him back. Or I will," she said with a smirk, though he was sure she wasn't joking. "And I'm sure Mrs. Weasley will have something to say about it. Rather loudly." She cringed. "She'll get over it."

"What about the last part?" he asked quietly. "What if they think less of you?"

"Then they aren't the friends I thought they were," she replied.

"You're amazing," he said. "I adore you."

She grinned and kissed him.

* * *

Nearly finished.

sidebar: I read somewhere that someone—I think it was Mark Twain—said that any time you feel the need to put the word "very" in your writing, you should write "damn" instead. Your editor will take them all out and your writing will be better for it. I did a search and replaced all the "very"s with "damn"s and then re-read all of it, and you know, he was right. There's no more "very", but I left in a "damn" or two.


	13. Chapter 13

The moon was waxing, and Remus had been surly for days. He'd smiled less and eaten less enthusiastically, and he was avoiding Hermione. She'd noticed his behavior change three days before the full moon and had tried to steer clear of him.

She understood why. Truly.

And she was trying desperately not to feel hurt.

The afternoon of the full moon, he found her in the library and sat beside her stiffly. She closed her book and smiled at him.

"I would feel better if you and Harry would spend the night at The Burrow tonight," he said.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "What for?"

"For the moon, Hermione," he said with as much patience as he could muster. "I know Molly and Arthur won't mind, and I'm sure you and Ginny would like to spend some time together."

"I know about the moon, but why do you want us to leave?"

"I'm feeling—er, worse that I usually do. I don't know how the wolf will react to my m—to _you_ being nearby, and with Harry."

"Were you about to say 'mate'?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. The wolf is far more simplistic and…and _primal_ than I."

"You've taken the Wolfsbane, and the cellar is warded…"

"Hermione, please," Remus said shortly. "I'm not in the mood to satisfy your curiosity. I will _not_ take risks with your safety."

She put her book on the side table and stood, her mouth pressed into a firm line. "Fine. I'll gather Harry and we'll go to the _babysitters'_."

She turned and marched out, and Remus sighed.

xxxxx

Harry was delighted to go spend time with Ginny and Ron. Hermione was grateful things with Ronald weren't as awkward as before, but they weren't quite back up to normal speed just yet. They had eaten dinner at the Burrow, and Molly had been certain to stuff them as full as they could handle before cutting them loose and telling them to have fun but not to break anything.

Ginny was glad for a girly night with Hermione. There weren't a lot of girls in her house besides her brothers' consorts. She was especially happy to be able to spend time with Hermione, who had been a bit absent lately. She thought it was just because she was avoiding Ron, or maybe she was busy with her new mystery boyfriend.

Hermione, however, seemed much less enthusiastic.

"Hermione, what's the matter?" Ginny asked when they were alone in her room.

"Nothing," Hermione replied. "I'm just worried about Remus," she said truthfully.

"I wonder why he wanted you and Harry to come here tonight. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but it's never happened before, right?"

"I don't quite understand it either," she replied sourly.

"We're not _that_ bad," Ginny said softly.

"Oh, no, Ginny, I'm happy to see you. I've missed you. I just don't like being made to feel as though I need protection. Like I can't take care of myself."

"It's not just you, it's Harry, too," Ginny said. She looked out her bedroom window and gazed at the moon. "I don't know Prof—Remus very well, but if _I_ were a werewolf, I would never forgive myself for biting someone. I'd imagine I'd do anything to stop that from happening."

When she drew her mind back into the room, Hermione was crying.

"Tell me what's really wrong," Ginny said, wrapping an arm around her friend's shoulders.

"You can't tell anyone," Hermione sniffed. "The man I've been seeing…"

To Ginny's credit, she didn't need Hermione to finish the sentence. A switch flipped on and she understood. "It's Remus," she said.

Hermione nodded pathetically.

"He'll be okay," Ginny soothed. "He's been doing this for a long time."

"But earlier when he asked me to leave, I was angry, and I just left. I left him alone with excruciating pain…"

"Shh. I'll tell you what. First thing in the morning, at dawn if you want, you can sneak back home. I'll cover for you and say you're sleeping in. You'll have to pop back in around late morning, though."

Hermione nodded. "Thanks, Ginny. You're the best."

"I know," Ginny grinned. "Now you're going to have to tell me this story from the beginning. When in Merlin's name did you start fancying _Professor Lupin_?"

* * *

Thanks for the reviews. And particularly to snapeisnotevil: lol! I do like some Jane Austin in my life! I hope it doesn't get too sugary for you again. :D


	14. Chapter 14

I don't think I can make it much better, so I'd better post it before I make it worse.

* * *

The cellar was empty when Hermione got home, and she surmised Remus must have taken himself up to his bedroom. She crept quietly down the hall and was glad to find his door unlocked. She was sure she couldn't sneak in undetected unless he was completely exhausted, but she didn't want to wake him unnecessarily. She found him fast asleep with only a couple visible wounds, both already healing. He was probably used to healing himself, she thought sadly. She stripped down to the barest clothing and slipped into his bed, curling up against his chest and caressing his scars with her fingertips.

She had been asleep for a while when she felt him shift closer and place an arm around her. "Good morning," he murmured.

"How are you feeling? Need anything?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just sore and tired."

"Would you like me to draw you a hot bath?" she offered.

He tightened around her. "Later. I've never woken up with someone after a moon." She was surprised, but kept stroking his hair, trying to comfort him. "No one stayed with me after the werewolf conversation, and here you are embracing me," he continued, speaking almost as if to himself. She couldn't see his face, but his voice was choked with emotion. "I'm quite used to being alone."

She thought she might cry. "Not anymore," she said soothingly, and she meant it.

He sighed. "Are you sure you want to be with someone you have to tend to like this every month?" he wondered of her. He sounded exhausted.

"I'm sure I want to be with _you_," she replied.

He kissed her softly, and held her against him. They lay like that for a couple of hours. Hermione fell in and out of sleep, until she woke up to find Remus also awake and showering her with innocent, tender caresses.

"Well," Hermione said cheerfully. "How about that bath?"

He nodded and consented to let her go.

She drew him a hot, healing bath with a warming charm and put him into it, noticing him wince a bit as she helped him get undressed. "I'm going to go make you a big breakfast," she said, kissing him.

"Thank you," he said appreciatively, and sank down into the water.

Hermione fixed a rather large tray of food and levitated it upstairs to Remus's room. He was just dressing, a bit painfully, and greeted her with a kiss. "Thank the gods for you, Hermione. I'm starving," he said, eyeing their breakfast. He looked at her for a moment, and appeared to be remembering something. "How did you manage to get out of the Weasleys' so early without anyone knowing where you were spending your morning?" he questioned.

"I was wondering when that annoying intellect of yours would return," she commented. "Eat your breakfast."

He shrugged and stuffed himself—politely—while she nibbled on toast and drank pumpkin juice.

"You look tired, love. Did you sleep?"

"A bit. I was worried about you and upset with myself over the way I reacted last night...I told Ginny about us. I had to. She agreed to cover for me this morning."

"I'm sorry about last night," he said. "I haven't been very considerate lately."

She shook her head. "You were only thinking of safety. I'm sorry, too." She kissed his cheek. "Oh! I have to get back there and pretend I've been sleeping this whole time."

"We'll talk later." Remus kissed her goodbye.

Hermione smiled. "See you later."

xxxxx

Only minutes after Hermione left, there was a knock on Remus's bedroom door. Remus was surprised to find Harry there, looking both nervous and resolute.

"Good morning, Harry," Remus said.

"I hope you're feeling better. Can I speak to you?"

"Of course." Remus invited him into his room and directed Harry to the solitary chair. Remus sat on his bed and waited for Harry to speak.

"I am glad you and Hermione are together. I want the two of you to be happy, but I just watched Hermione sneak into the house and lie to everyone there, and Ginny lied to her own family to cover for her." Remus opened his mouth, but Harry cut him off. "I'm sure that wasn't your idea, Remus, but until the two of you tell everyone what's going on, it's going to keep happening, and it's only going to hurt someone."

Remus was silent.

"I saw how upset Hermione was last night, and it's not really my business what happens between the two of you, but you asked me to leave as well as her, and that makes it my business."

The firmness of the boy's jaw told Remus that Harry was quite determined, in spite of his nervousness, and that his behavior had been affecting more that just himself and Hermione. He was proud of Harry for bringing up what didn't sit well with him.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm sorry that my…situation…has affected you and Ginny. You're right, she shouldn't be drawn into it, and it would be better if things were out in the open. We are planning to tell everyone as soon as it's appropriate."

Harry nodded.

"As for last night…" Remus trailed off for a moment. When he began again, Harry recognized his tone as the one he'd used in class, when he was explaining something he knew like the back of his hand, as if his mind were far away. "As the full moon draws near, the wolf becomes stronger. Rather, I become more wolf-like. My senses are sharper, and I start to feel the pull of instincts and urges…"

Remus paused to gauge Harry's reaction. Seeing only curiosity, he continued.

"I've never been in love like this before," he said softly. "I _am_ the wolf. The wolf feels what I do, not _love_, but some rudimentary version. Attachment, protection, possession, jealously. I had no idea what the wolf's—_my _reaction would be to having Hermione so near. And there being another male in the house with her, when I could not reach her." He said it apologetically.

"I see," Harry said slowly.

"I am so afraid of hurting her. Or you. I will not take chances."

"That's why you sent us away?" Harry asked.

Remus nodded. "However, the Wolfsbane held last night, and I could smell everything in the house, including the two of you, and I am hardly the worse for the wear. I don't think you'll need to leave again. I'll put up some extra wards before the next moon."

Harry nodded and looked pensive. "Does Hermione know why you did it?"

"I don't think so. I didn't explain. It's rather humiliating. Not to mention near the moon my social skills become less like my own and start to resemble…say, Severus."

Harry chuckled.

"It's a terrible fate to love a werewolf, I'm afraid." he said sadly.

"I'm sure Hermione doesn't feel that way," Harry smiled and stood up. "I'm sorry to have busted in on you like this, but I had to do it while I knew she was occupied."

"I know, Harry. I appreciate you talking to me about it."

"By the way, Hermione and Ginny were making plans to go shopping when I left, so I wouldn't expect to see either of them any time soon," he said with a roll of his eyes.

Remus chuckled. "I see. Thanks."


	15. Chapter 15

Am I finishing BOTH of my stories in one night? Yes, I am. One more chapter after this.

* * *

After dinner, Harry and Ginny made themselves scarce, and Hermione felt Remus's eyes on her. She looked up to find him watching her. He continued to do so even after being caught. She thought this must be what he had meant when he'd said he could _feel_ it when she looked at him. She felt a tug in her abdomen and returned his desirous gaze. "Have you regained your strength?" she asked innocently.

"I think I'm nearly up to speed," he replied.

"Hm."

Throwing him a cheeky look, she hopped up and ran at break-neck pace for the stairs, and heard him loping after her with long strides. She ran to his bedroom and giggled when he grabbed her and pressed her body into his mattress. He kissed her soundly.

"I don't know, you barely caught me just then," she teased, grinning against his lips.

"It's the chase that's important," he explained.

"Oh, right."

He pushed her shirt up over her breasts and she helped pull it over her head. He pulled off his own shirt and she unzipped her skirt for him to slide down her legs. She rolled him to his back and straddled his hips, undoing his pants and pulling them down his long legs.

She took him inside her and rolled her hips into his, moaning as he filled her. He watched her and enjoyed the sensation of her tight body sliding up and down his length.

"You feel so good," he murmured. She smoothed her hands over the parts of him she could reach from her position—his tightening stomach, his slender thighs. He grasped her hips and began thrusting into her—long, smooth strokes that matched her rhythm, without roughness or urgency.

"I can't believe you're mine," he murmured as she ground her hips against his.

"Yours," she moaned in reply. "Oh—Only yours."

She snaked a hand down her body and stroked herself.

"Hermione," he moaned. The sight of her was too much. He couldn't last much longer.

With a cry, her body spasmed around him, pulling his release from him, leaving them both shaky and panting. He pushed her hair out of her face and kissed her temple tenderly. Her fingertips were making the most delightful little swirls on his scalp.

"It hasn't been very long," she murmured, "but it feels like it has."

"That's my fault," he replied. "I haven't felt in control of myself lately. That's the biggest reason I was avoiding you. I hope you know it isn't because I didn't want to be around you."

"I do," she said. "But I've missed you. I just have to get used to it."

"I don't want you to have to get used to me ignoring you. I love you, you know."

She smiled. "I know. I love you, too. We'll have lots of time to figure these things out."

xxxxx

Four nights later, the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place were all off to the Burrow, first for a birthday dinner, and then out for drinks, or, as Ron called it, "the real fun."

They were waiting for Harry to join them before flooing over. Hermione looked as nervous as Remus felt. Of all times and places, Ron's birthday party was not the place for anyone to find out about their relationship. They had spent the last several weeks in nearly constant physical contact, and now they had to fake a lack of interest in each other. He gave her hand a squeeze. "We're just friends for the evening. I rather like being your friend."

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Me too."

He looked at her seriously, his voice low and grim. "If something should happen…if you should suddenly openly declare your love for me in the middle of the Weasley home…I just want you to know that I'll deny everything."

Her look of concern melted into a grin and she laughed, pushing him playfully. "There he is," she said with a roll of her eyes. "My knight in shining armor."

"You rarely need rescuing."

She quickly pressed her lips to his for a loving, though slightly hurried, final kiss.

Harry had accidentally watched their private moment and smiled to himself, glad to see his two friends so happy.

"I'm ready," Harry said, sweeping toward them. They stepped into the fireplace and called out their destination.

xxxxx

"Who is that?" Hermione whispered to Harry, indicating a girl sitting next to Ron with her arm linked through his.

"Clara Albright. Ron's girlfriend," Harry answered with a raised eyebrow.

"Huh," Hermione grunted. "I wonder if that's why he was so eager to make amends."

"You don't have to sound jealous about it," Remus leaned in and whispered with a smirk.

Clara turned out to be a perfectly nice, sweet girl, whom Ron had met when he accidentally tripped her in the stands of a quidditch match. Hermione actually liked her quite a bit, and decided perhaps she'd underestimated Ron after all.

Hermione and George Weasley were the last two to make it to the dinner table, as they had delayed to finish a game of chess. The table was a bit crowded, and the only two remaining seats were between Ginny and Remus, or between Harry and Bill. George took the latter and left Hermione to sit between her friend and her lover. Hermione wondered if Ginny hadn't engineered the empty seat on purpose. A small wink from her friend removed all doubt.

Remus, for the most part, acted as though the seat beside him were vacant, except for occasionally muttering a "thank you," when Hermione passed a plate or dish.

"Hermione, dear, how do you like staying at Headquarters? Are you comfortable?" Mrs. Weasley asked with motherly concern.

"Yes, it's fine," she replied somewhat tightly.

Sensing the girl's trepidation, the woman went on. "I always found the house to be a bit severe and stuffy, myself, with its lonely rooms and creaking floors. If you ever get bored, or feel like a change, you're always welcome here."

"Thank you, but it's not so bad. Whatever the house's faults may be, I vastly enjoy the library." She speared a bit of roast with her fork. "And the company," she added, as if as an afterthought.

"That goes for you, too, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Thanks," Harry nodded.

Hermione felt Remus place a large, warm hand on her bare knee, causing her to stiffen in her chair. He still didn't look at her, but his thumb stroked her skin softly and he felt her relax. He slid his hand slowly up her leg, his fingertips grazing her inner thigh. She put her hand on his, but not to brush him away like he thought. Instead, she merely stroked the skin on the back of his hand. After a moment, they grudgingly severed contact and went back to pretending indifference.

After the meal, everyone retreated to the sitting room to take up various activities and conversations. Remus and Hermione hung back, remaining in the kitchen alone and clearing the table to keep their hands busy. "I would never have thought you to be so hands-on, Professor Lupin," Hermione teased him quietly.

He gave her a look that set her on fire. "Cheeky witch."

She followed him to the sink, dishes in hand, and leaned against him slightly to set them down.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Molly Weasley's voice rang sharply out from the doorway behind them. Remus froze and Hermione spun around, looking as guilty as if she were caught with her hands down his pants.

"We weren't—"

"No guests of mine will be doing any cleaning, young lady," she said, ushering them out of the kitchen. "You two go on and enjoy yourselves."


	16. Chapter 16

Thank you for reading and the kind reviews. Enjoy.

* * *

Ron was just starting to open his gifts when they entered the lounge. Before they knew it, someone had broken out a bottle of firewhiskey and shots were being poured all around.

"This bodes well for the evening," Remus muttered, holding his shot outstretched in front of him to match everyone else in the room. Ron was being toasted by his twin brothers.

"To Ron! The youngest—"

"Except for Ginny—"

"Shortest—"

"Except for Mom—"

"Hairiest—"

"Except for Harry"

"And least-likely-to-get-laid of all the Weasleys—"

"Actual or adopted—"

"Past, present, or future!" finished Fred cheerfully.

Ron muttered something ungrateful and everyone took a shot.

George suggested that they also toast Clara for being kind enough to put up with their youngest brother.

The third was just for good measure.

Those who were planning to go out for drinks, which was nearly everyone, erupted into a flurry of wanting to change their shirts and shoes and needing to use the toilet, and wondering where exactly their wand had gotten off to. Clara had followed Ron, and Harry had followed Ginny, and soon Hermione and Remus were standing awkwardly alone in the lounge of the Burrow.

"Well, this is going well," Remus said casually.

Keeping an eye on the stairs, and certainly emboldened by the firewhiskey, she grabbed Remus by the shirt and pulled him around the corner and into the foyer. She pressed the briefest of kisses to his lips and gave him a shy smile.

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded the angry redhead who'd chosen exactly the wrong moment to appear in the doorway, followed by his sister and best bespectacled friend.

There went her plans of telling him calmly and quietly—and _privately_. And decidedly _not_ on his birthday.

Hermione smoothed an invisible wrinkle in her skirt and replied calmly, "It's called kissing, Ronald."

"I'm not bloody stupid!" he raved.

"Well, you're playing the part convincingly at the moment," she snapped.

Drawn by Ron's raised voice, all the Weasleys within earshot—that is to say, all the Weasleys, including the Weasleys-in-law—began filtering into the hallway. Luna and Neville and Clara also managed to cram into the tiny space to witness the exchange taking place.

"What exactly are you doing in here kissing him?" Ron shouted.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd, and more than one harsh look shot in poor Remus's direction.

"I don't think I owe you any explanation," Hermione answered a bit coldly. "Especially not if you're going to stand there and demand one."

"Remus Lupin!" Molly's shrill voice rang out. "She's young enough to be your daughter!"

"And old enough to make her own decisions, Molly," he reminded the mother of seven.

Taking this as a confirmation that Ron's accusations were indeed correct, the room erupted into a maelstrom of voices and murmurs, largely expressing surprise and confusion, and a few lewd murmurs. Hermione couldn't make out what anyone was saying, but it appeared Remus could, for he had gone pale and his jaw clenched in a way that demonstrated restraint. One voice, however, was unmistakable.

"He was our teacher! And he's a bloody—"

He didn't get to finish, as Hermione hit him with a silencing spell. "Ronald Weasley!" Hermione's voice silenced everyone else in the room. "You had better think carefully before you finish that sentence. I am sorry that you found out like this, but…well, I thought you'd moved on!" She glanced at Clara apologetically.

There was a raging, pregnant silence. Finally, Harry cleared his throat. "You two deserve some happiness. Love is too precious to scoff at."

"Agreed," said Ginny, stepping up to the front of the group beside Harry and blushing at him a bit. "Are you in love?" she asked the pair, who were now the target of all eyes in the room.

"Well, if I weren't already I certainly would be now," said Remus, the calmer of the two, his soft gaze fixed affectionately on the woman who had just fiercely defended him.

She turned and looked back at him, shooting him a warm grin and momentarily forgetting the unruly mob of people standing in the doorway. "Yes, Ginny, we are," Hermione answered without moving her eyes from him.

There was a spluttering sound that came from Molly.

"Congratulations to you both," Arthur Weasley interrupted, much to the chagrin of his wife. As if his were the final words on the subject, the crowd began to dissipate and head out the door toward the Three Broomsticks.

"Leave it to Hermione Granger to fall in love with a professor!" Fred exclaimed. "Well-done!"

"About bloody time," George agreed.

"Lupin, be careful with our favorite know-it-all," Fred cautioned, but not unkindly. "Who's ready for drinks?"

"You're all okay with this?" Ron fumed. His mother did not look to be exactly okay with it, but even she held her tongue, sensing she was quite outnumbered.

"Come on, Ron," said Clara. "Let the girl kiss who she chooses. You can do the same."

He softened and gave her a lopsided grin, and they apparated away.

When most of the others had gone, Hermione looked helplessly at Harry.

"Don't worry, he'll come around," Harry assured her.

A moment later, Hermione and Remus were back in their own lounge, neither feeling up to going out and both feeling a bit exhausted. "Well, that went well," Remus said sarcastically, plopping onto the sofa.

"Could've been worse," she replied, sitting beside him.

"Right, there could have been torches and pitchforks," he muttered, leaning back and rubbing a hand over his face.

Hermione laughed harder than she had in months, until there were tears in her eyes.

the end.


End file.
